Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Drew is on vacation. Today we have a guest Funbagger: Justin Halpern, of Shit My Dad Says fame.

Big thank you to Drew for letting me guest this Funbag. Normally my day is filled with exploiting my elderly father for money (see: Shit My Dad Says), so it was a welcome diversion. I also used to write for the TV show of the same name, until America was like, "GOD FUCKING STOP THIS SHIT TAKE IT OFF THE AIR." Since then I've written for other shows America hated. Anyway, Drew and I have the same book agent, and one time Drew asked me to meet up with him for a drink but then he canceled because he said he had to go to bed. It was 8:30 p.m. On a Friday. Anyway, I can't remember if Drew told me where he was going on vacation, but I'm pretty sure anywhere is better than the shit town he lives in.

Who the fuck are the networks to decide that the audience doesn't want/need to see some dude run onto the field and engage the security guards into a cops vs. robbers chase? Maybe this is a better question: Who the fuck are these network types that feel by not showing dudes running onto the field they are somehow preventing future dudes from running onto a field? I'd bet that 75% of these field runners decide to do so within 5 minutes of first thinking about it. I'd bet 90% are hammered at the time as well.

It's maddening. During the Steelers-Niners Monday night game, during the middle of a blackout, somebody ran on the field and they didn't show it. In the middle of a fucking blackout! There's literally NOTHING else to show us! You are absolutely right—no one makes a calculated decision to run on to the field. In fact, I would argue that anyone who runs on the field is so absolutely hammered that by running on the field and getting arrested, he probably stopped the following scenario from happening after the game, in the parking lot:

DRUNK GUY WHO WAS GONNA RUN ON THE FIELD AND THUS BE IN CUSTODY IS BUMPED INTO BY A SOBER FATHER OF FOUR.

DRUNK GUY: What the fuck, faggot?

FATHER OF FOUR: Oh, geez, I'm sorry. I didn't see you.

DRUNK GUY: Maybe you want to see my dick you, FAGGOT.

FATHER OF FOUR: I don't ... I don't know what that means. Please, I'm with my kids.

DRUNK GUY TACKLES FATHER OF FOUR, CHILDREN CRY, FOREVER REMEMBER THE EMASCULATION OF THEIR DAD, WIND UP DATE RAPING A WOMAN LATER IN LIFE TO COMPENSATE.

So basically what I'm saying is, by not showing us these people who run on the field, the networks are condoning rape.

Kyle:

Let's say an alien arrives on Earth and you are the first person he meets. He actually says "take me to your leader". What do you do? Would you really try and get him to the president? I would probably respond with "you're looking at him". Then when all of his buddies arrive, I'm the one in charge. This would be awesome if they were more powerful than us and they looked to me for decision making purposes. Not so awesome if they wanted to kill the leader of Earth.

I always have a problem with the "take me to your leader," scenario. If an alien has mastered intergalactic space travel, there's no way he's going to be dumb enough to just land here and be like, "Hey, who's in charge of this place?" He's not an obese mom of seven in Arkansas trying to find the manager at a Ross Dress for Less. He's HIGHLY intelligent. So if he does come up to you and tell you that, he's trying to fuck with you. I would just say: "I don't know. Ask my neighbor," and then run in the house and remove the shit from my pants. On a side note, when I was living in Hollywood, I had a meth-head neighbor who stopped me one day and asked me if I wanted to read his script about "an alien who comes down to earth and everyone just thinks he's a gay and not an alien. It's called Gaylien."

Andrew:

I've thought about this for years - obsessed on it really — the best truck to hijack is clearly a UPS truck. Think about it, there's like a million packages in there and you don't know what any of them are. It's like Christmas - you rob the truck and spend the next two days ripping through boxes hoping for cool stuff.

Here's what you're not thinking about: If you're caught, you will go to jail. And if you're the kind of guy who likes things to "feel like Christmas" you're probably ALSO the kind of guy who is not good at protecting his asshole from hard dicks. And even if that's just an overblown jail stereotype, there are no accounts of jail being awesome. So if you're going to risk going to prison, then you need to KNOW exactly what you are going to prison for, instead of opening a package only to find out it's a DVD of Grown Ups.

And speaking of DVDs you don't want …

Will:

Be honest. Did you actually think that the Shit My Dad Says tv show was funny, or did you do it knowing it was shitty, happily running off with the cash?

No judgement either way.....I'd say "Give me my cash money", do the tv studio's bidding, then move on to the next thing that would make me happy.

I definitely didn't go in to it thinking, "This is gonna be shitty." But I also went in to it thinking: "Oh my god. I have a TV show! I'm no longer going to have to hide in the bathroom from my parents when I jack off." I drank the Kool-Aid for a while, then I think at some point I was like, "This Kool-Aid sort of tastes like Dogshit-Aid." Then at that point, I drank the Dogshit-Aid because of, as you said, "cash money/move on to my next thing." I still think, though, that there were a lot of funny people, like Will Sasso and Nicole Sullivan, who worked on the show. It just didn't work.

Rob:

Recently I've found myself back and forth between my apartment at college (I just graduated) and home, meaning a lot of two-to-five minute walks from my car with a suitcase, a backpack and a duffel bag as I listen to my stereo headphones and wear sunglasses. Every time, I start imagining that I'm a top athlete being followed by ESPN cameras like Dirk Nowitzki or something. You know, how Sportscenter will start off with like, "COUNTOWN TO WEDNESDAY NIGHT BASKETBALL: 3:59:03" and there I am in my suit with my bags rolling through the tunnel ready to go to work.

Also, the last time, I was on my way home from school for a big beer pong tournament with my friends, which only expanded the fantasy. I was winking at invisible cameras. Am I the only person that does this?

I'll admit I have also done this. (Not the winking stuff. That feels like you took that to a LARPing-type level or something.) But inevitably what happens to me is, I get a glimpse of myself in the mirror and see that I look like Jason Biggs with a very advanced stage of AIDS and it's pretty hard at that point to continue the fantasy that I'm a professional athlete.

Mark:

What's the biggest animal you could fight off bare handed? No sneak attacks or crap like that. Realistically I think a wolf or a coyote is about as big as I could handle, I think I could take anything that's around the size of a normal dog or so. I know I'd be in over my head with a lion or cougar or something like that. Your thoughts?

I have thought about this question quite often, and here's why: One time I was coming home late at night and I parked my car on the street. I shut it off, then suddenly I hear a loud bang at my door, accompanied by a few scratches. I look out my driver's side window, and a raccoon is trying to tear away at my door to get INSIDE my car. My nuts evaporate, and I turn into a pile of useless Jew. As I'm cowering inside my car, I think, "It's just a raccoon, stop being such a pussy." So I grab a golf club that fortuitously happened to be in my backseat, and I roll down the window and start swinging at the raccoon. IT GRABS THE FUCKING CLUB AWAY FROM ME AND HURLS IT TO THE SIDE. At that point I am so terrified I let out one of those screams where your mouth opens but just air comes out, like when you open a sparkling water. After 10 minutes the raccoon stopped and walked away. I hid in the car for another 20 minutes to make sure. I decided after that, that I could fight off a small dog barehanded and THAT IS ALL. Anything else, my bloodline ends.

Ryan:

My wife and I got into a discussion the other day about eating each other should the need arise; you know, real "Alive" kinda shit. It wasn't so much a question of if we'd be able to go through with it (no reservations about eating human flesh in this house), but which part of the body you'd choose to eat first. She thought ass. I went with arm first for two reasons. First, I think it's a pretty big deal when you mentally commit to cutting someone up for food. I'd be a frazzled, wouldn't know the best way to cook it for maximum tenderness and who knows how to season something like that?! What if it was totally ruined, would you wanna waste your best cut on that? Secondly, going for the ass first just strikes me as weird. Thoughts?

You're right, you're going to be in a really messed-up mental state. Plus, I'm going to guess all human tastes like shit. So those are the two big things going against you. Breast probably tastes the best, just 'cause it's a good mix of fat and muscle, but if your wife just died and you're grappling with the fact that you're going to have to eat her to live, you probably don't want to cut off her boobs, which have brought you so much joy. That's a level of fucked-up you're not ready for right away. So my suggestion would be to flip her over (don't have to look at her cold, judging eyes) and cut away at her thigh, because it's meaty and non-personal, and then, most importantly, FRY IT. Everything tastes better if you fry it. I used to be a cook at Hooters, and we fried anything we could in our spare time. It ALL tastes delicious. I battered and fried a piece of cardboard once, and I would absolutely serve it at a Super Bowl party. Then, once you've gotten over the fact you're eating your wife, you'll be able to enjoy the breasts and the ass and, as you said, probably have figured out the best way to season and cook.

Jay:

I've been grappling with some guilt for almost 5 years. During the Patriots' 16-0 season I had a routine. Whenever the Patriots looked like they were in trouble, I would jump on my stationary bike and pedal like a fucking maniac for the rest of the game. Oddly enough they would eventually pull through. When they were down in the Superbowl, I left my party and hopped on the bike to "save the day." While I was riding they drove down the field and got the go ahead score. Now normally I would keep riding until the end of the game to make sure everything was cool but I was throwing a party so I got off the bike. We know how that ended. For 5 years I've carried the guilt of knowing that I could have done more but I was led astray by the temptations of beer brats and steak chili . My question for you is: Am I god?

First, let me say, fuck you. Second, excellent question. I did a similar thing once where I was convinced if I took the protective cover on and off of my phone for the entirety of a Chargers game, they would win. Neither of us is God. Both of us are incredibly annoying to watch a game with. But I know other people who do this, and I wondered how sane people could be capable of doing something so obviously insane. So I asked my friend who's a psychologist, and here's what he said:

"This is very common. Human beings have a need to feel as if they have an effect on things that are important to them. So, if they're rooting for their favorite team, they refuse to believe that they are helpless in the outcome of the game, and thus, invent activities that they believe will contribute to their teams struggle. In psychology we call those people 'Stupid fucking assholes.'"

Chase:

This is an at least once a week occurrence at my workplace, explain to me how this is possible? How do you habitually spray shit directly underneath the toilet seat?

This occurs because of something I like to call "freeze-frame diarrhea." This means that the diarrhea exploded out of your butthole so fast that if you were to have filmed it, then reviewed the tape frame by frame, in one frame you'd see a white bowl, in the next you'd see a brown bowl. But you would NEVER see the diarrhea itself shooting out of the ass because it's happening at faster than 24 frames (or 30 if you're shooting video) per second. Now, because the shit is flying out of your butthole at such a rate, its physical properties change. Sort of how if you fall from high enough into water, water ceases to give, and in fact becomes less pliable than concrete. So what's happened in your picture is that the poo particles are striking the water at such a speed that they hit the water, then BOUNCE UP, like a rock that has been skipped. That's how they get up under the bowl like that.

Adam:

Have you ever met William Shatner? If you did, was he a huge jagoff?

I worked with him five days a week for about a year. Not a jagoff. Crazy, unpredictable, but a very nice guy. The best part about him is that he has all these batshit crazy Hollywood stories because he's been in the business for roughly 200 years. The best one he told me was this one, which I will undoubtedly screw up and probably exaggerate because I was in awe when I heard it and most likely didn't process the thoughts being sent to my brain. I will attempt to tell it in first-person Shatnerspeak, because it makes his stories better.

"So, I'm in this Broadway show, you know. It's the '50s. There's a scene where my co-star pats me on the back. I think his name was Danny. I don't know. Maybe not. Maybe it was Pete. Anyway, Pete or Danny pats me on the back very hard during a scene. Very hard. So after, I say, Pete, ‘Don't do that or we'll have a problem.' Next show, he does it. Real hard. So in the middle of the scene, I get up, and I punch him in the face, and I knock him unconscious. Gasps from the audience. General chaos. Curtains go down. Show shuts down for three months due to his injuries. Three months later, we start back up, I'm in my dressing room, door opens, Danny comes in. He shuts the door. His fists are clenched. It's one of those old Broadway doors. You know the ones I'm talking about, right? They lock when they're shut from the inside? So he closes the door, we're locked in. His fists are clenched. He says, 'Bill, we have a problem.' And I say, 'You have a problem, Pete, because I'm going to kill you,' and I lunge at him and we're wrestling on the ground, and I'm trying to tear out his jugular because obviously the blood loss would cause a fatality, and he's trying to mortally injure me as well, and the director, he hears the fisticuffs, and he breaks down the door. And he breaks up the fight. We did the show that night."

In closing, William Shatner is the best and anyone who says otherwise I will argue with.